Healthy Drama

After about a year of knowing a particular boy (which is as long as I've known anyone in the Navy), we initiated a casual conversation via text message while I lied in my borrowed bed and tried to de-stress from my irritatingly difficult day. We were talking about how interesting it is when you stumble upon a first class or chief's Facebook page and find pictures of them, in their personal lives, doing all the same things you like to do; BBQs with family, drunk parties with friends and simple hobbies...that same person that runs your career, tells you what to do all day, and acts like they're running a serious brigade... they go home and pop open a beer and chill out with their buddies and play Madden football, just like you do.
Anyway, the conversation carried on to conflict (because inevitably, these people are a source of conflict in our lives)...and my friend, whom I've never credited with a lot of insight (no offense to him, he's just uber private about these types of things), confessed that he likes "drama" because it keeps him on his toes....this text took me by surprise. For someone that never expresses any kind of thought other than simple small talk and shop talk, he made an interesting point that I've never heard anyone admit before. Upon him admitting that he likes to stir the shit from time-to-time to keep himself occupied, I realized, this whole time, I'm the same way...I've just never been able to admit it. I always insist that I hate conflict. But a little manageable conflict is entertaining. And I don't believe we're unique in this. I think most people seek conflict; at least a little. To me, liking drama makes you a pain in the ass. But ultimately, liking drama (in moderation) means you like a challenge, you like to see how things play out if you play your cards a certain way; a social experiment, so to speak. I'm starting to see a trend in my own life. My response to him was, 'So we entertain ourselves at the expense of others?' and he responded, "Yeah, pretty much. Fuck it." Okay....simplicity. But in actuality, impressive truth. This is how we found each other and this is why we keep each other around. Both of us have a pattern of complicated relationships with less than available people...both of us have continuously put ourselves in situations that were potentially dangerous to ourselves, could cause pain and extreme feelings. It's almost like we're masochistic, but we're not. We come out of these situations with a mere scratch and find the next difficult situation....Ultimately, neither of us have really hurt anyone. It's kind of like playing with fire; we know how to do it and make a brilliant campfire, and keep it from spreading to the forrest.
It must correlate with the fact that we're both adrenaline junkies....although I secretly believe that this new found fact about myself, as real as it may be, is not abnormal. And I think people with less desire to seek adventure and thrill are the same people that dwell on the social drama and cause problems for everyone. A little adrenaline pumping excitement coupled with a little innocent, manageable drama is a happy life.
Another interesting spin to this new observation is....where does this leave my friend and I? Does this mean we're going to continue down these parallel trails and keep utilizing each other for entertainment? That's a pretty epic idea. I wonder if it can be done without escalating the entertaining conflict into full-blown damage.....

Avoiding the Wet Dream

No one ever reads this blog but me, and guess I prefer it that way....
When I was in high school, my mind was a sadistic floodgate of creative, disgusting ideas that I transferred onto a word document (I'm not old enough to have ever enjoyed the written word; my hand's just not fast enough for my brain.)...there was one time in particular when I popped a couple Vicodin after a minor foot injury, sat in my giant studio apartment room above my parent's garage, sneaked a couple Utah strength Bud Lights and wrote for hours and hours reflecting on the crazy shit that had happened to me in the last few months. When I was done spewing words and analysis and humor and sorrow and rhetoric and anecdotes and lies and truths, I felt like a new person, like I had just psychoanalyzed the fuck out of everyone, everything and especially myself.
Well now I'm a grown up. I don't have a narcotic prescription (although I must admit it feels like my metacarpals are dislocating as we speak) but I do have plenty of beer. I have attempted numerous times to start writing again, as the written word, despite how cheesy it sounds, is a large part of my soul. Without it, I'm frustrated. I used to compare it to being constipated. But now I think it's more like a sexually frustrated 18 year old. It's not something I need to do everyday, although I probably would if I could. If I hold back long enough, it makes me irritable. Eventually I'll resort to making bad decisions if I can't find a way to release the tension....
So now my writing skills are dull and my sense of humor is suffering and my insight is all gone. Especially because my life is so incredibly different now than it was last year, or any year before. I have a lot of catching up to do. And it's going to take a certain amount of commitment that I may or may not have. But I'm about to try. SO I'm going to start by trying a 30 day writing exercise....
Here we go....

Mental Pity

Everything makes sense to me, but yet it's like a hurricane in my head.
The storm was so subtle but played up so well and I bought into the hype with my rushing thoughts.
I attempted to over prepare for something I knew nothing about.
So here I am, facing thoughts that are ugly and cruel to my ego...
making empty conversation with people that are far from empty
counter-productive because boredom is my enemy
but yet I'm too lazy to find another way
so many things could have happened; so much more of what I love
but instead here I am being annoyed, and I really have no excuse.
I don't feel like I ask a whole lot of my life; I like to be surrounded by friends having fun when I play
and I like to be elbow deep in challenging, demanding tasks when I work...
why is it never enough....or is this a legitimate concern?
Once my mind comes to terms with the confusion and the weird, painful truths that reality smacks me with every day,
I don't want to think about the journey anymore...
instead of remembering details, the whole memory gets repressed after the issue is resolved. And when I face it again, it fucks me up for days at a time.
I also figured out why I'm such a terrible writer now days.......I'm too scared to be honest with myself.
Alright, telephone tough girl. Someday you'll stop acting like a grown up and actually become one.

Note to self: Tequila is a powerful drug.